Both Worlds
by wwheisenberg
Summary: Fame does strange things to people. Between her double life, the partying, the drugs, the moments of crippling depression, and the moments of sheer ecstasy the lines between reality and fiction become blurred for Miley Cyrus.
1. Chapter 1

THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS

"Fuck" was all Miley could think to herself, as she heard the song come on. She didn't need this right now; she was already too close to the edge.

_You get the limo out front! Hottest styles, every shoe, every color!_

It was all she could think as she heard her own voice coming through her car's speakers. Her little red convertible was doing 100 easy down the open freeway, along the coast.

_Yeah when you're famous it can be kinda fun! It's really you but no one ever discovers!_

The fierce wind blew her long brown hair in every direction, nobody would be able see the expression on her face, cast in iron.

_In some ways you're just like all your friends! But on stage you're a star!_

With one hand she gripped the wheel, her short fingernails painted black, which seemed to give her hands an appearance of strength. With the other hand she smoothed her hair back. She felt silent tears land on her puffy cheeks, beneath her over-sized sun glasses.

_You get the beeest of boooth wooorlds!_

The words cracked her cold expression like glass. She fell apart. Tears rolled down her face now and her sobs were audible above the rush of the wind. The tragic irony of this line was more than her fragile mind could bear. She turned off the radio before she could hear more and pulled over to the side of the road. The Pacific Ocean was heavy in the air and the sun's light shimmered across distant waves. The contours of seals could barely be seen playing near the horizon, fragmented by sunbeams. Miley stared into her own reflection in the rear view mirror, knowing there was nothing she could do, sensing the futility of it all. She reached into her purse and began to cut a line onto the dash. When she was done she looked at her Disney issued credit card and had to smirk. The engraved image of Mickey Mouse was half covered in Peruvian Coke- sometimes the coke helped keep her together, sometimes it helped keep _her_ away. This was what Miley hoped for, but she knew it was too late. She laid her forehead on the steering wheel and began to shake. She closed her eyes and prayed.

Her heart sank when she heard the voice. "Miss me, slut?" That soft voice, with the subtle signs of a lisp and with no hint of the usual Nashville drawl, was all too familiar to Miley.

Hannah was here.

Suddenly Miley found herself riding shotgun in her convertible BMW M6. She was looking at Hannah, who was now in the driver seat. The sudden parallax always made her nauseous. She closed her eyes and tried not to vomit, but she didn't succeed. Wiping her mouth, she spoke with an air of defeat, "You're not real. Go away."

Hannah pushed her huge white sunglasses down her nose so Miley could see her roll her eyes. Hannah looked just like Miley, except her lips sparkled with lip-gloss and her hair was completely blonde. Hannah was wearing a fur coat over her low cut dress and push-up bra. "If I'm not real, then how come I can do this?" Asked Hannah in a deceptively sweet voice as she put the car into drive and began to floor it down the empty freeway.

"You're just in my head! You aren't there!" Miley pleaded, hunched up in the passenger seat, as the little red car barreled down the road.

"God, you're pathetic." Hannah said, dropping the sweet intonation. "Look at you, for fuck's sake. You _love_ me. You _love_ what we do together. It makes you feel alive."

"I don't need you! And I don't want you!"

"Well, I'm still here aren't I?" Replied Hannah, as she delivered the back of her hand into Miley's face with a sharp smacking sound. Miley gasped and felt the all too real sting on her face.

Then they both noticed something: blue and red lights, pulsating, reflecting off of all the surfaces of the car. Miley saw Hannah's sparkling lips stretch into a cruel smile. She began to beg "No, no, please-" Hannah shot her a glance, her face covered by the blowing of her long blonde hair. "Quiet, bitch." Miley slumped back in her seat, crying again, as Hannah pulled the car over. She could see Hannah's eyes lustfully following the officer, as he grew larger in the side mirror.

"You know how fast you were going, mam?" asked the officer.

Miley whined and pleaded "No, no, no!", but only Hannah Montana answered.

"I don't know officer, it's hard to tell how fast you're going after a full gram of blow." Said Hannah in her sweetest, most innocent voice.

"What the fu- alright mam, out of the car. Hands on the hood"

Miley was convulsing now and screaming at the cop, "Run! Please RUN! Why don't you listen?!"

Hannah got out of the car and asked something about if he was at least going to buy her dinner first. As Miley watched all this, eyes blurred by tears, she knew that she was only watching herself. She was only watching herself when she saw the officer go to pat down Hannah's left ankle and when she saw Hannah lift up and then bring down her right foot, stiletto and all, onto the man's head. The noise his skull made when it smashed forward into the pavement made Miley want to vomit for the second time, because she knew she wasn't really watching form inside the car. What she was doing in real life was waking back around the car, sitting down, putting the car in drive, and then proceeding to drive over the cops head- killing him instantly.

Hannah brushed her hair out of her face as they sped away, she looked at Miley, directly into her eyes. "Was that as good for you as it was for me?" she asked sweetly.

Miley blacked out.

She awoke in her bed. Drenched in something. Blood? No- sweat. She closed her eyes and shuddered, still feeling ill. She knew what she had done. And she knew she would get away with it. The fake plates on her car wouldn't lead the police anywhere. She knew that the dash cam on the police cruiser would have recorded the events: Miley knocking the officer unconscious and then running him over as he struggled to get up. She knew that Hannah Montana wouldn't have shown her face to the camera and that the blood trail left by the tires wasn't near long enough to lead back to her house. They would put out an APB for a 5'5" Caucasian female with a red M6, there had to be hundreds of those in LA. Just to be safe though, she should ditch the car. She had enough cars that she could claim it was stolen with out her knowing about it, if it came to that. Miley began to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

I wrote this story over three years ago, and now it seems to be coming true! Haha.


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